Motor mouth and car trouble
by dinofossil
Summary: Contains allusions to the discipline of an adult, please don't read if this upsets you. Sam damages the Impala and has to face the consequences. Carcentric. I really went out on a tangent with this one.


I sort of, ahem..., write discipline fic, so this is slightly different to my other stuff. I'm stuck in bed with the sniffles and needed cheering as an antidote to the complaining from my other half as he lies suffering next to me with 'man flu'.

'Sweetheart my nose is running, my throat is dry, I'm too hot, I'm too cold.' It just goes on, and on, and on…Anyway, two of Dean's funny car comments were his (thank you, dear) so he has some uses.

Usual disclaimer, don't own them, no money being made, no spoilers, and I make no apologies for letting the boys laugh for once, or for allowing the sun to shine down on them.

**Motor mouth and car trouble by Dinofossil**

Sam paced anxiously around the motel room, his eyes fixed permanently on the door, as he nervously waited for his brother to return.

From the feelings deep within his stomach, he guessed that the swarm of butterflies inside him were wearing hiking boots, and they weren't delicately fluttering, they were stomping. '_Oh crap, I've got butterstomps_' he thought.

Stopping to sit on the edge of his bed, he watched in fascination as his legs developed a free will of their own, and began a trembling quickstep in accompaniment to the erratic pulse of his wildly beating heart.

He clamped his hands firmly to his knees to still them, but the rhythm in his legs travelled up his arms, making his shoulders shake as if he were laughing uncontrollably at some huge joke.

Only this wasn't funny. He'd damaged the Impala, and Dean was pissed.

Sighing deeply with regret, he recalled the day starting so innocently.

_**Earlier**_

The boys were on the trail of a spirit that they'd manage to track down to a large office block sited on the edge of a small town in Illinois. A used car-lot opposite the block provided the perfect vantage point for them to discretely observe the activities of the building.

The hunt had been a gift so far, with the preparations and research going much better than expected, and a straightforward salt and burn was on the agenda for later.

For once, warm sunshine flooded the Impala as it sat comfortably nestled between two much younger cars, and the atmosphere inside was relaxed and easy.

Dean leaned back lazily in his seat, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his body and the sensation of the breeze gently tickling his arm as it rested by the open window. '_This is sweet_' he thought satisfied.

Sam sat next to him, beaming as brightly as the sun illuminating his face, while he contentedly made notes to remind him of the buildings layout for their return after dark.

Suddenly their solitude was rudely interrupted by a knock on the roof, as a car dealer in a cheap mud brown shiny suit tried to get Dean's attention. "Excuse me Sir, but would you be interested in trading this old thing for a younger and more economical model."

Sam's jaw just about dropped to the floor, and he twisted in his seat to get a better view of the impending exchange. '_Oh this is going to be so good_.'

With murder on his mind, Dean climbed out of the car to get a better look at the '_asshead_' who had dared insult his baby. With as much indignation as he could muster, he proudly stroked the sleek paintwork.

"This is a classic; they don't make cars like this anymore."

Undeterred, shiny suited dealer assessed the Impala along its full length.

"That's probably because they ran out of metal making this one. How about I show you something smaller?"

Joining them outside, a broadly smirking Sam studied Dean closely to see if the pressure building in his head was going to blow the wax from his ears. He always enjoyed watching Dean's emotional outbursts where the Impala was concerned, and wanting to prolong the discomfort, he mischievously stirred things further.

Grabbing an arm, he dragged his reluctant brother towards the dealer. "We'd love to see something smaller" he said with mock interest, "wouldn't we Dean?"

"Dude, you're enjoying this way too much," Dean hissed, but looked up anyway, and forced an unconvincing smile. "Yeah, love to."

The dealer was already calculating his commission; with an ex-wife to feed he could do with the money. He pointed to a squat little car sat forlornly in the middle of the lot. Keen to off-load it, he had festooned it with '_deal of the week_' banners. Some fool always fell for that trick.

"Want to try it out for size?" he invited as they reached the small car.

"Sure," Dean agreed, "excuse me while I cut my brother's legs off so he'll fit in."

Giving Sam a helpless look, Dean folded himself awkwardly and squeezed behind the wheel.

"I think you'll get a lot of joy out of this one," the dealer encouraged as he climbed in beside him.

"Oh, I think I'll get a lot of joy getting out of it." Dean corrected.

Ignoring the comment, the dealer pressed on with his sales pitch. "It's got air-con, remote alarm, CD, mock leather trim, and have you seen the back seat?"

Uncomfortably cramped in the tiny space, Dean gave him an exasperated look. "Seen the back seat? You've got to be kidding me; I'm practically sitting in it."

As he sensed his commission flushing down the pan, the despondent dealer made a last ditch attempt at a sale.

"It's 0 percent finance" he offered meekly.

"Yeah, and its 0 percent car," Dean sarcastically replied climbing back out.

Leaving the broken man, the two brothers walked slowly back to the Impala, both having enjoyed this small diversion to their day.

The horrors of their lives gave few opportunities for fun, and so Dean always delighted in hearing his younger brother's rare laughter. He grinned widely as Sam fired off a round of spontaneous chuckles in his appreciation of Dean's motor mouth.

Still giggling childishly, Sam reached the passenger side of the Impala, and turned round in time to see the dealer kick his car. It was too much for him, already drunk with laughter; he doubled up in a full-on belly laugh and fell clumsily against the side of the car.

A loud crack suddenly sobered him, and he found himself staring at a chrome wing mirror lying at his feet. He scrambled to pick it up, shielding the offending item behind his back. Too late; Dean had seen the shifty movement and read the panic in his eyes.

"What you got there Sammy?" he asked accusingly.

"Umm, my one way ticket to shit creek," Sam replied, and with a cringe, produced the wing mirror for his brother to see.

"You broke my baby," Dean squeaked in disbelief. "You are so dead, get in the car, NOW."

Sam slid into his seat, cradling the mirror in his lap like he was holding unstable explosives. He glanced forlornly at Dean. "I'm sorry, it was an accident."

"Do you remember what happened the last time you hurt her?"

Sam didn't need to think too hard. Their last encounter had involved struggles, cries and tears, it was a lesson he'd never forgotten.

"Dean, please no, I'll fix the mirror and clean her for the next year instead."

Dean shook his head slyly. "Sorry Sammy, can't do that."

They drove back to their motel in silence, where Dean marched Sam ceremoniously into their room. "Stay here," he warned, "and you might want to think about what you're going to get when I've sorted my baby out."

With that, he grabbed the wing mirror, and headed out to perform the delicate reconstructive surgery.

_**Back to the present**_

Keeping track on his brother's progress, Sam listened to the intermittent clanking of tools and cursing as the repair was slowly but lovingly completed.

Finally the door swung open, and Dean walked in smiling menacingly.

"Could you look a little less like you're going to enjoy this, you sadistic sonofabitch." Sam asked caustically.

"Silence," Dean growled. "You know the consequences for breaking the Impala, now are you ready to face up to your punishment like a man?"

Sam dropped his head and nodded. "Just get it over with."

"Right you know the drill, drop em."

"Please, Dean, couldn't you do this with them on?" Sam whined.

"I've given you an order, Sam, now get them off."

Obeying, Sam bent down and removed the items.

"Right, go and lie on your bed."

Sam's shaking legs barely held him, as he padded softly to his bed and lay down. Not trusting himself to accept the anticipated ordeal, he reached up and gripped the headboard tightly, burying his face deep in a pillow to muffle the cries he knew wouldn't be able to bite down.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he felt the bed sink, and his legs involuntarily jerked as they became imprisoned by the weight of Dean's body.

And then the torture began.

Running the nails of his fingers along the soles of Sam's bare feet, Dean began to tickle them mercilessly.

He laughed easily, as he noted the pillow at the head of the bed starting to shake with mirth.

Applying a little more pressure, Dean slowly and deliberately drew his nails up and down, watching as the feet curled tightly, mapping the progress of his fingers.

At this point he almost lost control as Sam started the desperate battle to wriggle free. Shifting his weight further over, he clamped him firmly to the bed, and continued to torment the sensitive areas.

Pounding the mattress with his fists, Sam's shallow gasps quickly converted into deep throaty laughs as he threw his head back. The muscles of his stomach had already started to ache, and great fat tears were forced out of his eyes.

With alarm, he found the effort of laughing had robbed him of the strength to struggle, and he lay back giggling and snorting, hoping Dean would stop so he could breathe again.

Dean _was_ going to lecture his brother about being more careful around the Impala, but he also found the simple act of breathing difficult, and instead was forced to ration the air in his lungs to support his escalating laughter.

Realising he didn't have any strength left to continue, he stopped, and felt Sam's legs sliding free.

Sam sat up at once, and they both grinned at the sight of each others tear streaked faces.

"You full-on screamed like a chick there, dude."

Sam frowned. "Just pass me my socks."

Dean looked at the socks that Sam had removed, and wrinkling his nose in distaste, picked them up and wafted them in the air.

"Sam, do you know why you're so tall? It was your body's way of putting as much distance between your nose and your feet; your socks stink worse than sulphur."

"Bite me." Was all Sam could manage, before laughing again.

With weapons to clean before the evening's hunt, Dean stood to begin preparations, but he allowed himself one final satisfied glance at his brother. He adored hearing him laugh.

The End


End file.
